


Salt and Pepper

by twinklukeskywalker



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, god they're so in love someone punch me in the face, wholesome only in this household
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 17:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19233880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinklukeskywalker/pseuds/twinklukeskywalker
Summary: A lazy, rainy Saturday leads to a discovery for Aziraphale.





	Salt and Pepper

“Crowley love,” Aziraphale said, rushing to hold his mug of cocoa above the plane of the demon currently stretching out over their bed. And over his lap. “You’re sprawling again.” 

“I am only fulfilling my lot in life, Angel,” Crowley drawled, continuing to stretch his long limbs over every available surface. “And that is to embody the Seven Deadly Sins that our dear Creator seems to think are, well, deadly. For whatever reason.” 

“Well I’m very sure that you can embody Sloth while also not spilling my drink all over our bed,” Aziraphale retorted. 

“Then don’t have drinks in bed,” Crowley shot back.

Aziraphale, knowing that he had backed himself into a corner, dropped the matter completely and went back to his book. Crowley grinned wickedly. Or, maybe it was just a normal grin. He is a demon after all. Wicked is in his very job description. 

It was a Saturday morning. Rain poured down outside, creating a gentle pitter-patter on the windows in their bedroom. While admittedly not the biggest fan of sleeping, Aziraphale had conceded to a morning in bed, even allowing himself to doze while Crowley had wrapped around him like an octopus, or serpent, rather, seeking as much warmth as he could manage. Now though, Aziraphale’s restless energy had taken over, resulting in the (still mildly in danger) mug of cocoa and the pile of books on the bedside table.

Crowley, deciding to further annoy his husband, rolled over onto his stomach and rested his head on Aziraphale’s thigh, lulling him into a false sense of security. 

The cocoa, miraculously, remained unscathed. The pile of books, including the one currently in Aziraphale’s lap, however, did not fare as well when Crowley let his wings unfurl. They spread over the entire width of the bed, casting a somewhat ironic shadow as they passed in front of the lights. 

Aziraphale yelped in surprise as the book clattered to the floor and he was suddenly faced with an eyeful of feathers. He noticed a few floating in the air as the rest of Crowley’s wings settled over them. 

“Sorry Angel,” Crowley grinned, fluttering the tips of his wings. 

Aziraphale scowled. “I doubt very much that you are sorry, Crowley.” He put a hand on the leading edge of Crowley’s wing, feeling the roughness of feathers out of place. “Darling when was the last time you preened your wings? These look positively wretched!” To illustrate his point he pulled out a loose scapular feather and showed it to him. 

Crowley pulled his wings close to his back, looking uncomfortable. 

“Preening isn’t necessarily a favorite pastime Downstairs,” he said. “And it’s not that easy to reach these alone.” He stretched out his back, muscles flexing and wings shifting and fluttering.

“Oh, Darling, we’ve been together for how long now?” Aziraphale said, running his fingers in Crowley’s hair. “And you’ve never thought to ask me?” 

Crowley mumbled something about not wanting to be a bother.

“Crowley I am insulted that you think that your well being could be a bother to me. Sit up and let me help you.” He tapped the base of his wing to get him to move. ‘

Crowley moved to sit on the edge of their bed, spreading his wings out to their full length and revealing the extent of the ruffled and bent feathers. 

Aziraphale knelt behind him, surveying and deciding where to start.    


“Do you have a preferred ritual?” he asked. Crowley shook his head. 

“When I do I usually start out and work my way in but…” He trailed off. Aziraphale hummed to himself.

“I’m going to start at your scapulars and go from there,” he said. “They look like they need the most work.”  He pressed a kiss to the back of Crowley’s neck before he got to work.

It was, admittedly, a little tedious, but Aziraphale took the time to drift off into almost a meditative state. He worked his way up and down Crowley’s wings, straightening bent feathers, realigning hooks, and removing broken and damaged ones. He could feel Crowley leaning into his touch as he passed over an itchy spot or straightened a particularly wayward feather.

Something he noticed, as he finished the scapulars and moved down to the tertials and secondaries, was that Crowley’s wings, while somewhat disheveled, were quite luscious and soft. This was an indication to Aziraphale that Crowley cared about them, at least enough to nourish them properly. The lack of preening he could understand - it was no easy task to get to the hard to reach places. 

Another thing he noticed was their color. Aziraphale’s own wings were an almost blinding white, with golden flecks shimmering here and there. It was a rather common state for angel wings to not be a singular color, with most mixes being gold, silver, or bronze. A fallen angel’s wings, however, traditionally turned a solid, cool, onyx black as they fell, with no variation: another form of punishment. 

Crowley’s were not a solid black. Instead, they were a soft, sooty gray. Pure black and lighter gray feathers were flecked here and there among his secondaries and primaries. Obviously, God knew what She was doing when Crowley had sauntered vaguely downwards, knew that Crowley’s very being didn’t deserve the pure black wings of his fellow demons. 

“Crowley, your wings…” he trailed off, pulling a downy feather off of his leading edge as he did so. 

“What, Angel?” He sounded defensive. “Like I said, preening isn’t big Downstairs.” 

“No, no Darling I’m not judging you one bit. Your wings are beautiful. Did you realize, at all?” 

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never had occasion to think about it.” 

“Well they are. Absolutely gorgeous. What is it that humans say? Salt and pepper? You have salt and pepper wings, Darling. They’re beautiful.” 

Crowley shifted uncomfortably under the praise while Aziraphale continued to work his way out to his wingtips. Dark gray feathers littered the bed around them by the time Aziraphale started on his second wing. 

It took about another twenty minutes for Aziraphale to finish with Crowley’s other wing. Their bed and floor were covered in feathers. Crowley rolled out his shoulders and beat his wings slightly, testing out his newly smoothed flight feathers (and causing loose sheets of paper to take flight around the room). Aziraphale had leaned back against the headboard after he had finished to give Crowley space to stretch, and he had also picked up his book to continue reading. 

Crowley folded his wings, scooting back to cuddle into Aziraphale, miracling away the feathers strewn across the room as he did so. He pressed a kiss into Aziraphale’s neck before laying down and slinging an arm across his lap.

“Thank you, Angel,” he murmured, feeling sleepy. He felt Aziraphale’s lips on his hand. 

“Anytime Darling. And please never think that you could inconvenience me. I love you too much for that to be the case.” He ran a hand over Crowley’s feathers. “They really are beautiful, you know. You’ll see it.” 

Crowley hummed, a low vibration in his chest. 

“Not as beautiful as yours, Angel,” he mumbled, drifting off into sleep yet again. 

Aziraphale went back to his book, still absentmindedly stroking up and down Crowley’s wing. 

A single, pure white feather remained on the floor. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I told myself that I wouldn't write Good Omens until I updated my Star Trek fic...boy was I mistaken.
> 
> Basically my best friend and I hit Good Omens like a truck last weekend and we are both in the process of reading the book at this very moment, but we quickly agreed on WINGS. And that we will only write them to jazz
> 
> Did I look up wing anatomy for this? Absolutely
> 
> Anyway they are so disgustingly in love I cannot handle it. 
> 
> Follow my tumblrs to see my 1 braincell at work  
> @twink-luke-skywalker (main)  
> @phaleazir (good omens)  
> @uss-starprise-entership (star trek)


End file.
